


Bay City: Haunted Waters

by Sparrow (hersilentlanguage)



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Brotherly Love, Gen, I experienced all the emotions writing this, also Reginald and Grace, and a meme reference, anyways please enjoy this emotional rollercoaster, but it reads as complete for now, might expand on this someday, minor references to/appearances by Diego and Luther, mostly this is Ben and Klaus, there are little easter egg references to other media too, we shall see what S2 brings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-11-26 22:41:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18186590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hersilentlanguage/pseuds/Sparrow
Summary: With a sad smile, Ben said, “It’s… been a while, hasn’t it? Since we were home.” He pulled his hood back, then shrugged with practised indifference. “I guess it’s not really home, though. Just somewhere familiar.”“Sure, but… do you miss it?” asked Klaus. “I mean, you’re on the streets with me half the time, so—” He looked away, scratching at his neck as though that would ease the sting of guilt in him. “We could try again… to go back, or maybe visit.”Ben shook his head. “No, we’re better off—at least, while Dad’s around.”You, especially,he thought to himself. It was concerning to think on it, for as much as Ben would like to see his brother get clean, he knew well what “assured” methods their father would turn to. “He can’t live forever, you know?”“God, I hope not,” mumbled Klaus, his face contorting as he imagined it. “I’ve placed bets on him croaking for years, and it hasn’t happened yet. I need a win! Seriously, though, has Dad evernotbeen old? It’s like he was born antique. I can’t remember a time he didn’t reek of moth balls, mint, and onion paste.”





	1. Say Something

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, just a quick heads up: there are some heavy themes (i.e., addiction, trauma, etc) discussed and implied in this story. Nothing graphic and certainly nothing that should be unexpected if you’re familiar with the show. I just extrapolate from S1 canon.
> 
> This story centres around the dysfunctional familial bond between Ben and Klaus, but there are a few other characters who are referenced and/or appear in a flashback in Chapter Two: namely, Diego, Luther, Grace, and Reginald. I admit, I don’t like Luther, but I do my best to depict him fairly (similar to the balanced take of the show).
> 
> Chapter One is titled after the song “Say Something” by A Great Big World (ft. Christina Aguilera), and the fictional bayside city is named in reference to the Bay City Rollers for that iconic bowling scene song.

**Bay City, 21 March 201X**

It was cooler out than expected. The humid, salt-tinged breeze injected the coastal air with a touch of winter unbefitting of the spring's emergence. For Ben, of course, it made little difference what the seasons brought. He thought only of Klaus, so often numb to his own needs that he braved this night like any other: in a mesh shirt and torn-up tights, with a moth-eaten coat that he _refused_ to button. Honestly, Ben had tried to tell him. It was useless. Klaus, unabashed of his choices, assured his brother that a sacrifice in the name of fashion was no sacrifice at all.

“I’m _not_ cold,” Klaus insisted for the eleventh time that night, having caught a suspicious side-glance from Ben. They had been on foot for a while, walking briskly along the highway that had led them here. Passing cars and the ocean breeze alike had caused Klaus’s coat to billow out behind him in a dramatic fashion. This suited him just fine, and he held his head high to show it; but the goosebumps on his chest were plainly apparent—even amid the shadows cast by the tight-fitting, net-like fabric of his shirt. “Oh, give me a break,” said Klaus as Ben assessed him with another look. “We’re headed to the beach, aren’t we?”

“Something like that,” replied Ben with a shrug. The gesture understated how enthused he was to have come out here. He nodded ahead to a vaguely carnivalesque sign with cracked and faded lettering. “Just a little further, I think.”

Minutes earlier, the brothers had crossed a line of wind-battered yellow tape to trespass on this coastal lot where the bones of a boardwalk had been abandoned years ago in the construction phase. A storm had struck the area with enough force to tumble the pier and the would-be shops into the city’s shallow, polluted bay. What stood strong was the seawall—a solid stretch of concrete made accessible at the edge of a paved, unpainted parking lot. As rumour had it, the security patrols were less frequent here outside the summer months; the local youth who sought to drink and party in hideaway places like this one were mainly creatures of the heat.

Klaus moved nimbly to avoid a broken bottle in his path. He squeaked in surprise as an unseen shard crunched loudly underfoot. At this, Ben said dryly, “And to think I had to talk you into wearing shoes.” He phased ahead a few yards, smirking back at his trailing brother. The water’s edge was closer now. Just close enough to drown out Klaus’s muttered defence of the “barefoot lifestyle.”

With a sigh of contentment, Ben approached the short fence which guarded against the seawall’s steep descent. There were sharp, treacherous rocks made visible at low tide. The nearest streetlights were not enough to illuminate that danger, but they did make clear the signs that had been posted over the years: _Warning. Rocks Below. No Diving. Keep Children Under Control. Stay Back 100 ft. Do Not Enter. Warning, warning, warning—_

“Do I look glamorous?” called Klaus from nearby, causing Ben to glance back at him. “Don’t answer that. It’s obvious—I was _made_ for the spotlight! _”_ He laughed to himself, spinning gleefully beneath the gold wash of a streetlight. A surge of manic confidence was rising through his bones. “Look at me, Ben, I’m _glowing.”_

Ben leaned against the fence, crossing his arms. “Like a beacon, you moron.”

_“Hey,”_ said Klaus, stepping out from a twirl and dropping his arms at his sides. He pouted at his brother. “There’s no one around, right? Didn’t you check?”

Scoffing, Ben responded, “Didn’t _you?”_

Klaus rocked back and forth on his heels, glancing briefly left to right. “Well, yeah—just now,” he said, covering his mouth to hide a grin. “There’s no one.”

Ben raised his eyebrows. “Klaus… please, just get over here. I’m not spending another night in jail because you decided to flirt with a security guard _again.”_ Having said that, he phased through the fence and stepped up on the seawall. There was a good balance of light and shadow here—enough to see by, while at the same time offering obscurity for Klaus in his dark attire.

A few feet further and Ben was satisfied to settle down on the wide, flat top of the seawall. He motioned for Klaus to join him as he relaxed into a sitting position. It was peaceful here. That’s why they had hitched a ride to this city only earlier that week, wanting more than their childhood home had to offer. _It’s not forever,_ they agreed—just until it felt right to return. Who knew when that be? Ben thought little of it. He was grateful to see the water, even if he couldn’t quite touch it. The ocean was healing, he mused to himself. Maybe it’s what they needed. Maybe it would even get Klaus to think of something other than his next hit. _Maybe._

“It smells like fish,” Klaus remarked, wrinkling his nose at the air as he came to stand beside his brother. He glanced down at Ben, who was staring at him in an unimpressed way. “What? It’s true! I never said I _hated_ it. Let’s just call it… an acquired taste.” With a smile and a soft chuckle, he began to juggle the sandwich that he had been carrying on his person.

Suddenly, out from the night, a seagull came shrieking, as if awakened by the smell of food in the air. The streetlights flashed off the bright white underside of its wingspan as it wheeled above the parking lot, its skinny neck stretched to peer curiously into the dark below. Klaus hopped forward, teetering dangerously as he snatched the sandwich from its last toss. He hugged it defensively against his chest, calling loudly to the seagull, “It’s _mine,_ you vulture!”

Rolling his eyes at his brother’s antics, Ben patted the concrete beside him. “Klaus, sit down,” he said. “You’re going to fall, and it’s too cold for a swim.”

“You didn’t say _please,”_ huffed Klaus, even as he slumped down at his brother’s right side, stretching his legs out ahead of him. He peeled back the waxen paper of his sandwich, showing evidence of a half-hearted nibble from earlier that evening. Seeing that Ben was distracted by the view, Klaus pretended at another nibble, then lowered the sandwich back into his lap.

“I like it here,” said Ben. It was beautiful to him, the way the city’s core glowed so brightly from across the bay. The black, gentle waves which crested a slow-rising tide were painted with the warm hues of urban living. He could close his eyes and forget himself here—for a moment, he might even forget that he was dead. Inhaling deeply, as though he had reason to breathe, Ben felt a calmness that tempted him to drop his guard.

Klaus might have preferred the downtown strip to this place, but it was well enough to be here for Ben’s sake. Indeed, it was _only_ for his sake that Klaus would not mention the distant, song-like screeching of drowned souls infringing on his consciousness. He had less drugs in his system than usual—enough, he hoped, to pretend away the ghosts as well as he pretended sobriety. A sigh rose to his lips, but he suppressed it. It would all be fine. Ben deserved this quietude.

“Hey, I was wondering,” said Ben, shifting to look at Klaus beside him. He stiffened as their eyes met, feeling suddenly less certain of himself. Was there any point to expressing the fears and doubts he had bottled up for so long now? To drag it all into the light would be to _finally_ have answers to his most burdensome questions. The risk was that he might not want those answers, once he had them. He sighed within himself. Another night, perhaps.

Ben cleared this throat, then gestured casually to his brother’s sandwich. “How is it?” he asked, not at all unaware that Klaus had scarcely tasted the meal since he bought it, hours ago.

Klaus spared a glance at the stale, bleached bun in his hands. The gash between the slices spewed a yellow-grey mash of overcooked eggs and mustard. He wanted to complain, because despite how long it was since his last meal, the first bite had spoiled his appetite.

It was Ben, though, who had emphatically _suggested_ he put his last dollar toward food, for once. Klaus had listened, not because the convenience store’s deli ever appealed to him, but because it had struck him, as he scowled at his options, that Ben had not eaten in literal _years._ His meals were experienced vicariously through Klaus, and well, he had gone for days on scraps up to now.

“If you want the truth,” said Klaus with an impish tone, “it’s… just like Mom used to make!” His face split into a grin, and he stuffed another bite down, almost gagging as he tried to swallow. Still, determined to convince Ben of his enjoyment, he tried to speak: “Yeh, jus’ lock toe-bog-lungs! Mm, _sah-goo_ , ‘ember?”

Ben sighed patiently as Klaus broke into a coughing fit. “If you’re choking, I don’t think your prospects are good.” He glanced pointedly over his shoulder at the abandoned parking lot that stretched out behind them. “Mom _did_ warn you.”

_“Don’_ wobble,” Klaus insisted, waving a hand to gesticulate his meaning. When the coughing fit subsided, he said more clearly, “Don’t worry.” He smiled weakly, his cheeks pink with embarrassment. “I was tryna say this reminds me of those… _delightful_ bag lunches Mom used to pack us.” With a wistful sigh, he added, “Yeah, just like when we were kids—remember?”

There was no immediate response. In the drawn-out silence, Ben’s dark eyes could be seen to flood with old memories, and Klaus began to wonder if he had been wrong to call his brother back into the past. But then, that doubt was shattered by an earnest laugh. “I remember,” said Ben. “Just not quite how _you_ tell it.”

Klaus feigned offence. “What, how do you mean?”

Ben shook his head, halfway smiling. “Just admit you hate the sandwich, Klaus,” he said, chuckling. “Half those lunches you trashed, and the other half, you tried wrestling down my shirt like I could just _make_ them disappear.” He rolled his eyes at the memory. “It’s lucky you didn’t lose a hand or something.”

“C’mon now,” said Klaus, “I only thought you were hungry with your stomach always rumbling.” He leaned in to nudge teasingly at his brother’s torso, only to lose his balance as his elbow fazed through Ben’s jacket into his ribcage. “Christ, I’m sorry!” Klaus straightened up, scratching anxiously at his neck. “I still forget you’re—uh—not really _here_ and all.” It had sounded right in his head—better, at least, than saying the _D_ word; that was, until Ben had looked at him sidelong, a flicker of hurt on his face as faint as the moon’s glow.

Feeling a pang of regret, Klaus thought to say, _I didn’t mean it like that._ Instead, he was quiet. The words wouldn’t come, and he had no reason for why. Wincing with guilt, he determined to change the subject. “Anyway, uh, what were you going to say earlier, Ben?” he asked, picking idly at the edge of his sandwich wrapper. “You can talk to me, you know.”

“Right, sure, when you’re sober _,”_ Ben replied tersely. He moved closer to the edge of the seawall, letting his legs drop soundlessly against the salt-crusted concrete. The way the barnacles protruded sharply from the vertical drop made him think, in passing, that his body should feel discomfort. “It’s just—” He sighed, focusing his gaze on the dark, gurgling waves which, now and then, leapt higher in the wake of a passing skiff or cruiser. “You’re the _only_ person I can talk to, Klaus.”

Klaus blinked. “I guess,” he said, unthinking. Ben’s shoulders stiffened at that, and Klaus again felt regret for his words. He shifted forward, closer to the water. His unbuttoned coat swayed with the movement, his left pocket swinging out above the bay. For a moment, he had the sensation of heaviness—as though the pills he had stashed, unknown to Ben, were becoming anchors. They tempted him down into the darkness below, where no more sadness, no more guilt awaited. He froze, feeling terribly anxious.

Then, Klaus remembered the sandwich in his hand—a gentle weight, half-felt in his heart, urging him to sit again. He did so, crossing his legs beneath him. Ben was all the while quiet and still, so Klaus at last opened his mouth to speak. _I’m sorry,_ he said, but it was soundless—only his lips had moved. If Ben had even noticed, he gave no indication. Of course, as Klaus had apologized a thousand times before, it stood to reason that the words would be received with little more than an eye-roll. He chewed his lip nervously at the thought.

“I _guess,”_ Klaus started again, setting the sandwich down beside him, “I’ve never thought of me as your best option, let alone your only option—for company, that is.” Pausing, he glanced at Ben. His brother’s eyes remained at sea, but it appeared he was yet listening, so Klaus continued: “Hear me out, Ben. There’s a big market for Ouija boards, right?” He chuckled in a strained way, trying to lighten the mood. “Seriously, you’d be a hit at parties. Maybe meet a cute medium or—”

_“Stop.”_ Ben twisted to look his brother in the eye. His expression, which at first was stony, began to crumble with emotion. “I’m dead, Klaus,” he hissed with venom. “I’m not anyone’s goddamn _Casper._ I mean, god, how could you even—” He broke off there, closing his eyes as he tempered his rage. Even if he tried to speak now, he would only choke on the energy that rose like bile in his throat. He could feel his insides roiling, all those nightmares at the threshold, singing for blood. _No,_ he told them silently. _No._ He grit his teeth against the pain. _Go back. Go back, now._

Klaus swallowed hard at the sight of his brother labouring against his demons. He never meant for this. Not at all. Tentatively, he reached a hand out, trembling as his fingertips brushed incorporeal black leather. “Um, Ben?”

His eyes snapped open. _“Don’t_ touch me,” Ben rasped out, breathing heavily. He averted his gaze from Klaus. “Just leave me alone. That’s what you want, right? No more deadweight, _literally_. It’s fine, I get it.” He felt hollow as the last horror in him withdrew, seething and cursing in an alien language. In the wake of such anger, there was only ever this emptiness. It ached like starvation, or the closest he could feel to it in death—and he _hated_ it. His emotions were dangerous.

Klaus, of course, knew well that danger. He never meant to be a spark to anyone’s gasoline, but it seemed that was his nature. Now, his eyes were wide and full of sadness, brimming with tears which began to streak down like comets, catching the golden glow of the city skyline across the bay. “I don’t want to go,” said Klaus in a quiet voice. “I’m _scared,_ but it’s not you I’m running from, alright? Christ, if I could just…” He sniffled. “If I could take you with me, you think I wouldn’t?”

Glaring out at the bay, Ben replied, “It doesn’t matter. You _can’t.”_ His tone was guarded. “I can’t come with you, Klaus. You know that.” His fists clenched. “But you leave me behind, and you think, what? I’ll _always_ be here waiting?” It felt cruel, somehow, to plant that seed of doubt. The feeling worsened in that moment when Ben turned back to Klaus. He looked so vulnerable in confrontation with the truth—like he didn’t even know what to do with himself, like he was just… broken.

Taking a breath, Ben resolved to speak more of his mind. “See, one day,” he said, steeling himself against the ache in his chest, “ _one day_ , you’ll take a hit from some skeptic who’s just beautiful enough to convince you that I can be reasoned away, and you’ll forget me.” Klaus shook his head at that, but Ben pressed on: “You _will,_ though, because you hate this—because you play with your life, but you don’t want to look death in the face. Do you, Klaus?”

Ben’s words were tidal, washing over Klaus in a dizzying way that unbalanced him in his seat. “No, _no,_ ” he murmured, still shaking his head. It wasn’t clear what he was denying at this point, even to himself. He tried to steady his mind by pressing his palms flat against the cool grey concrete, but to no avail.

In desperation, Klaus moved as though to physically grasp Ben by the shoulders. His hands fell through, empty of anything, and he pulled back as though shocked. “No,” he breathed, near to soundless. He stared hopelessly at his upturned palms, coming to fixate on the tattooed word _Goodbye._ It burned like a salted wound. It mocked him.

Suddenly, Klaus looked up, wild-eyed, and exclaimed into the night, “Take it back! I never asked for this!” Next to him, Ben flinched in surprise. He had composed himself to speak when Klaus cut in, unaware: “Christ, y’know, I—I just wish you never died, Ben. I…” He trailed off, wiping at his cheeks with the faux fur trim of his tattered coat. “I wish to God _herself_ it was me in your place, and I know that’s wrong. I know it. I’m _sorry.”_

There was a long pause, as if Ben was meant to reply. When he said nothing, Klaus sniffled, drawing his knees up into his chest. He exhaled a shuddering breath. “If this is our lot in life,” said Klaus hesitantly, “then, for what it’s worth, I’m just—well, I’m glad you’re not like the other ghosts around.” Fidgeting, he glanced at Ben. “And anyways, even if you were—you’re my brother. No matter what.”

Ben wore a strange expression. “Am I?” he whispered.

“What?” said Klaus, cocking his head at Ben in confusion.

“You heard me,” Ben replied, his expression hard and inquisitive. “Be honest.” He leaned in closer, twisting around to where he could look at Klaus face-to-face. “Do you believe it when you say that, or do you just like the way it sounds?”

Klaus fell back on his elbows, bewildered. “I-I don’t understand what—”

_“Earlier,”_ said Ben forcefully, “you asked me what I wanted to say. If you meant that—” He paused, raising an eyebrow as he looked down at Klaus, who was tense and rabbit-eyed with stress. “Do you still want to know?”

Nodding immediately, Klaus stuttered out, “Y-yeah, ‘course! I’m—I’m listening.”

“Good,” Ben replied, regarding him with an unreadable expression. He said nothing further as he placed a phantom hand atop Klaus’s chest, pushing through to his heart, and evoking a rippling shudder as his brother’s living body reacted to the nearness of death. The prickling cold of Ben’s electric, wintry brand of energy was not so unlike other ghosts. He withdrew his hand, slowly, and asked, “Am I real to you like this? I wonder, because you treat me like some _figment_ born of drugs and grief one day, and your brother the next.”

Klaus grasped for words. He found none.

Meanwhile, as the ache of emptiness grew to where it eclipsed all of Ben’s other senses, he withered back to the ground. His voice was quiet, barely above a whisper, when he spoke again: “Don’t you get it? The Ben you’re grieving, the _version_ of me that you want here, right now…” He trailed off, looking out at the water with a distant expression. “He’s gone, Klaus, and he’s never coming home. _Never.”_


	2. Here With You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just FYI: Diego is referenced in this chapter. There's also a flashback ft. Luther, Grace, Reginald, and teen Klaus.

**Bay City, 21 March 201X**

Klaus was reeling, unable to align his mind and body. A few minutes had passed in silence, but he could still hear Ben’s words echoing in the cavern of his skull. Just words, no longer phrases—scattered, distorted, torn-up, fading words like _drugs, gone, want, figment, grief, never, real, home._ It was that word, _want,_ which wrapped around him, snake-like and squeezing. Could he pretend, in his distress, that he was stronger? He collapsed onto his back, exhausted—wanting _so much_ to reach for his pills. A single one could undo this, and Ben would forgive him, in time. He would, right? He had to.

“Ben,” whispered Klaus hoarsely, feeling an itch of dryness in his throat. The sensation of that itch worsened until he rolled onto his hands and knees, coughing and spitting as acid rose from his stomach. It was only a minute, but it left him shaking. His own weakness disgusted him. Looking up from the ground, he was overcome by a sense of disorientation. How long had he been drowning in his own mind? “Ben?” he called out softly—then, realizing the space beside him was empty, his eyes widened, and his voice cracked on his next words: _“Please_ come back…” 

There was a sigh from a place of deeper shadows, several feet to the left. “I’m right here,” Ben said flatly, walking back toward his brother. He moved slowly, with his hands buried in the pockets of his leather jacket. His eyes flickered constantly to the water, as though a part of him was still attached to solitude. When he was near enough to Klaus, he halted, but remained standing. “I… needed a minute.”

“Oh, that—that’s okay,” murmured Klaus, struggling to right himself. He offered a faint, uncertain smile as he settled onto his knees; then, began to wring his hands in a manner both anxious and pensive. “You never left. You’re… you’re _here.”_

Ben raised an eyebrow at him. “I wouldn’t just leave.”

Klaus nodded, and in that same moment, a spark seemed to light his face. He stared at his brother, and said thoughtfully, “Y’know, I realized something.”

“Yeah?” said Ben, deciding to resume his earlier seat on the concrete.

“Yeah, I—uh…” Klaus trailed off. His eyes had grown distant. “I realized…”

Again, a beat of silence, but this one stretched longer. Ben waited a short while, then cleared his throat. “Listen, if it’s about tonight—let’s just not talk about it, okay? I shouldn’t have said anything.” Still, no response. He glanced uncertainly at Klaus, and asked with obvious reluctance, “Do you… wanna go?”

“What? No! God, no!” exclaimed Klaus, coming back into the moment. “I’m not going anywhere, Ben! Believe me, I—” He blinked as it occurred to him that Ben was staring openly, almost smirking at his brother’s passionate outburst. “Oh, you meant—from _here._ This place. Right.” His eyes averted to the ground, and he chuckled softly in embarrassment. “No, uh, we should stay. It’s nice out here.”

Ben snorted. “Don’t lie,” he said, looking pointedly at Klaus. “You said it smelled like fish.”

“Okay, _okay,”_ said Klaus, showing his hands in surrender. “But so did Diego after climbing into that octopus exhibit when we were 12, and I still like _him,_ don’t I?” He wrinkled his nose at the memory, then bit back a grin. “God, he smelled like fish for a week. I couldn’t believe Dad stopped him from showering! That sadistic bastard ended up punishing the whole godforsaken house with that stink. _”_

There was a strangled noise in response. Ben doubled over, and Klaus jolted in alarm. He reached tentatively for his brother’s shoulder, asking, “Ben, are you—wait, are you _laughing?”_

Ben pulled his hood down, further obscuring his face as his body trembled with mirth. “No,” he choked out, unconvincingly. “I’d just… forgotten that.”

Klaus smiled widely as he slipped back into a cross-legged position. He propped his chin on one hand, regarding Ben’s obvious amusement with immense relief. “Ah, but who could forget the legend of the great and mighty _Kraken?_ ” He snickered to think of how flustered Diego would be, were he present to hear all this. “Some say there are still scratches on the glass there, while others swear that the ol’ octopus has taken to stealing silverware for her own protection…”

There was a faint gasping noise as Ben suppressed his laughter. By now, he had brought his hands to his face, and Klaus was simply grinning at his reaction.

“Oh, Dad was _so_ mad when he realized,” Klaus continued, recalling how their father’s veins had nearly burst from his skin. He mimicked Sir Reginald’s voice in a mocking way: _“Number Two!_ What _ever_ possessed you to _knife-fight_ an _octopus?_ No, I don’t care that it was a fair fight! I most _certainly_ do not care that you held your breath a full half hour! Knife-fights are restricted to the hours of 9 to 11 AM on Mondays, and you may _only_ stab who I tell you, starting with your _insolent_ brother, what’s-his-name. Ah, yes, _Klaus!—_ that handsome deviant.”

Ben laughed aloud, no longer able to contain it. “Jesus Christ,” he breathed, lifting his head to fix his brother with a dark, glittering eye. “You sound just like him.”

Klaus placed a hand to his chest, pretending an insult. “I, Reginald Hargreeves, could _never_ be reduced to some mere _caricature,_ my boy.”

With a sad smile, Ben said, “It’s… been a while, hasn’t it? Since we were home.” He pulled his hood back, then shrugged with practised indifference. “I guess it’s not really home, though. Just somewhere familiar.”

“Sure, but… do you miss it?” asked Klaus. “I mean, you’re on the streets with me half the time, so—” He looked away, scratching at his neck as though that would ease the sting of guilt in him. “We could try again… to go back, or maybe visit.”

Ben shook his head. “No, we’re better off—at least, while Dad’s around.” _You, especially,_ he thought to himself. It was concerning to think on it, for as much as Ben would like to see his brother get clean, he knew well what “assured” methods their father would turn to. “He can’t live forever, you know?”

“God, I hope not,” mumbled Klaus, his face contorting as he imagined it. “I’ve placed bets on him croaking for years, and it hasn’t happened yet. I need a win! Seriously, though, has Dad ever _not_ been old? It’s like he was born antique. I can’t remember a time he didn’t reek of moth balls, mint, and onion paste.”

They both chuckled at that, and then, Klaus asked in a suddenly more vulnerable way, “Do you think he’s out looking for us?”

Ben was strangely heartened by the fact that his brother would include him in that worry, even knowing that their father had all but forgotten him after _the incident._ “It doesn’t matter,” he said to Klaus, “because he won’t find us. We’ll just keep running—and immortal or not, we’ll smell him if he gets too close.” He winked.

Klaus grinned widely, and from that point, a comfortable silence fell between them for a while. Into that space, there flowed a deeper awareness of the coastal night’s ambience: the lapping waves, the shrill cry of an otter, the sound of sirens across the bay, the screech of tires on a distant road, and the faint, crackling hum of energy that emanated from Ben’s incorporeal presence.

It was not that Klaus meant to threaten the tranquillity apparent in his brother’s face; yet, it struck him that there was something unsaid. He shifted to look at Ben. “Hey, I wanted to say, um—” Klaus paused, his courage faltering; immediately, his gaze fell, but he could feel his brother’s eyes upon him, vaguely curious. He took a breath, and persisted: “See, I realized that… you were right.”

Ben smirked. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

“The thing is, it’s… _everything,”_ said Klaus, beginning to fidget with the hem of his coat. “I’ve been a jerk.” He swallowed hard at the admittance. “I take you for granted, and it’s because, I mean, you’ve _always_ been there. It’s like—well, it’s _almost_ like you never died, except—um—you did.” Having said that, he lifted his gaze to search his brother’s face. What he hoped to find there, he wasn’t certain. Forgiveness, maybe. Understanding? Love, in spite of it all?

Ben was quiet for a long moment. “You can be a jerk,” he said, at last, “but I don’t regret that you’re my brother, or the one who’s with me through this. Truth is, I’m glad it’s you. _”_ At that, Klaus looked first surprised, and then, a little pleased with himself, so Ben rolled his eyes at him, saying, “Don’t think that means I _won’t_ dump you for some medium, cute or not, if you give me reason.”

_“Ouch,”_ said Klaus, looking scandalized as he clutched at the fabric of his coat. He smiled faintly before taking on a serious tone: “Ben, hey—I’m sorry. I _really_ am, and you don’t have to believe me. I just want you to know… that you _are_ real to me. You’re not some fucking side effect. You’re real.” His fingers curled as he leaned into the emphasis, and he squeezed until his nails bit into the soft flesh of his palms. The pain was soothing to his guilty mind. He didn’t care if his tattoos scarred. “It’s just all _too_ real sometimes, that you’re dead—that you’re _here_ —that no one fucking believes me ‘cause I was a strung-out wreck _before_ you died…"

His eyes went bright with tears, and Ben said softly, “Klaus, you don’t have to—”

“No, no, it’s okay,” Klaus insisted, wiping aggressively at his face. “I mean, wait—it’s… it’s _not_ okay! God, listen to me. I can’t even speak.” He choked on a laugh.

Ben tried to smile, but it was fleeting. His eyes were fixed on his brother’s trembling hands and the small trickle of blood from between his fingers. Klaus, himself, seemed not to notice, or he simply didn’t care.

“Y’know, I’ve wondered if I’m crazy,” said Klaus with a sigh. “And then I think back to when—when we lost you.” He looked brokenly at Ben, who struggled to hold that gaze and remain impassive. “I had this nightmare, so I thought. There was this guy, and he looked… _just_ like you, but he couldn’t be! He was terrified and confused and _angry,_ and I ran from him because I didn’t want to see him like that, all… mangled.” His eyes closed, and he took a long, shuddering breath. “He tried t-to tell me what happened. I woke up, wanting to tell _you_ what a godawful nightmare that was, but—your bed was… empty.”

Swallowing hard against the tears, Ben reached instinctively for his hood. He stopped himself. It was _his_ hands shaking now. Slowly, he crossed his arms against his chest, as if he were susceptible to the night’s chill, and nodded in response. “Y-yeah, uh, I remember… I remember that. I wanted you to hear it from me…”

Klaus bit his lip. “I should have gone, too. Maybe—”

“No.” Ben shook his head. “No, it was stupid. I was stupid to go.” He stared hard at the concrete. “I trusted that we weren’t just some fucking _experiments_ to Dad—that he… cared a little. He wouldn’t ask us to do something dangerous.”

“You’re not stupid,” whispered Klaus. “Dad and Luther, they said—they _said_ they’d have your back, and then… they came back without you.”

Ben’s expression was grim. “I can’t hate them for it,” he mumbled. “I want to, sometimes. I _really_ want to.” There was silence for a moment. His gaze had turned upward to the sky—a weave of stardust, moonshine, blackness, and city smog. He breathed deeply and said, “Dad had asked me to push my endurance. He didn’t say how long. I wanted to prove myself, so I—didn’t think. I tore open, completely. It impressed them for all of a minute before they started _screaming_ for me to stop. I just… couldn’t. I couldn’t control it.”

Klaus stared at his brother, tears streaming freely down his red-tinged cheeks.

~~~

**Hargreeves Mansion, circa 2007**

_“Mom, hey, where’s Ben?” asked seventeen-year-old Klaus, throwing a frown over his shoulder at the unoccupied bedroom behind him. He tilted his head at their mother, who was smiling stiffly at him. Her eyes were resemblant of a doe in headlights. “I checked the bathroom, and he’s not there either. You seen him?”_

_“Why, no, Klaus. I haven’t. Not this morning,” replied Grace in a sweet tone. She smoothed her apron, flinching slightly when her son’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Come along to breakfast. I’m sure your father will have news of him when he returns.”_

_Grace reached for Klaus’s hand, but he pulled back from her. “Wait, what—you mean, they’re not back yet? But they left last night, and Dad said—” He glanced down the hall to Luther’s door, which was cracked slightly open. “Is Luther home? Never mind, I’ll just ask him.”_

_“Klaus, no, please! Come to breakfast,” Grace called after him, starting forward and then halting. She shifted her weight nervously, looking down at the ground. “Your father said—”_

_“Luuuuther,” said Klaus in a sing-song way, ignoring their mother’s protests. He cartwheeled the rest of the way down the hall, kicking his brother’s door open, and starting to say, “Where, oh where, might I find our B—” He froze._

_Luther, looking as he was before the incident in his own life, was hunched on his bed with his back to the door, and he was sobbing in a violent, soundless way. Hearing Klaus’s entrance, he turned to face him with raw, reddened eyes. Slowly, he stood and walked to the threshold. “Get out, Four,” he uttered hoarsely, shoving Klaus back with a muscular hand before slamming the door shut._

_Winded and bewildered, Klaus stumbled and nearly fell. He caught himself on the wooden molding that ran along the hallway. Behind him, he could hear Grace’s heels clicking as she hurried to retrieve him from any potential fight. The awful, all-consuming anxiety he had felt from the nightmare that pulled him out of bed just earlier was rising again, and he couldn’t fight it. His mother and Luther were acting strange, Ben was nowhere to be found, and the house overall was too quiet. Something was wrong._

_Klaus sprang forward, banging at Luther’s door. “Where the hell is Ben, you asshole? If you know something, you better tell me, or I swear I’ll—”_

_“Number Four, that is quite enough.”_

_Sir Reginald had appeared at the end of the hall, silhouetted by the sun that spilled through a window behind him. He stood tall and stiff, as always. It was difficult to make his face out, but Klaus knew his eyes were icy on him._

_Unfazed, Klaus had whirled on the man. “Tell me where Ben is.”_

_The moment stretched eternal as Reginald stalked down the hall, slow and confident like an apex predator in an open field. He loomed intensely over Klaus until the teen withered uncertainly against the wall, eyes darting between his father’s cold stare and his own feet. “I’m disappointed, Number Four,” he said in a dangerously soft voice. “I thought you, of all people, would be the first to know.”_

_Klaus shook his head, clutching at his hair as he sank, trembling, to the ground. “No, no, no,” he muttered, disbelieving that his nightmare had been real—that he did, indeed, know what had happened—or at least, that Ben had tried to tell him. “Shut up.”_

_Reginald narrowed his eyes. “I beg your pardon?”_

~~~

“I said _shut up,_ old man!” screamed Klaus in the present, startling Ben out of his own engrossing thoughts. They looked at each other, equally disoriented, until Klaus blinked and said quickly, “God, I’m sorry—not _you_ , Ben _._ I wasn’t… I wasn’t meaning you.”

Ben opened his mouth to reply seriously, but the words were overtaken by an absurd urge to laugh. “I-it’s alright, I didn’t think so,” he said shakily, wiping at a stray tear even as he smiled a bit. “I’m not the one getting older.” He levelled a teasing punch at Klaus’s shoulder, even knowing it wouldn’t be felt. “Death looks good on me, right? At least I’m not going grey, always worrying about some dumb ass.”

Klaus stared at him for a moment. His lip was trembling. Suddenly, he folded in on himself, laughing as well as sobbing. “I’m not old yet,” he managed to say, raising a hand to wave dismissively at Ben. He felt a slight crackle of energy, something like static, and without looking up, choked out, “If that’s your spleen I just touched, I’m sorry.”

Laughing even more, Ben replied, “Anatomically, it’s unlikely. Maybe a kidney? They’re just for show now, so don’t worry.”

“Yeah, but they’re _best_ in show,” mumbled Klaus, breaking down into a genuine giggle. “I don’t want to… _defile_ them by association. I mean, I’ve got these, like, backyard-bred organs in here.” He straightened up, patting at his stomach. A slight gurgling noise erupted, and he frowned severely. “Quiet in there, Tumnus.”

Ben made a gasping noise, unable to contain his laughter. _“Tumnus?”_ he practically squeaked. “For the love of Lucy, tell me you didn’t eat the man.”

As seriously as he could muster, Klaus responded: “He was half-meat.”

There was nothing Ben could say to that. His words were strangled by laughter, and Klaus was delighted to see it. Moonlight glanced off the water, brightening his salt-crusted cheeks and his brilliant smile. _These_ were the moments he lived for, in spite of everything—all the pain and horror he had endured since his childhood.

And as for Ben, these moments made him _feel_ alive. That was enough, for him. He was grateful. “You’re so weird,” said Ben with obvious affection. “I think I still love you, for some reason. I guess that makes me an idiot.” He grinned at his brother.

“Well,” said Klaus, with a smirk, “I love you, too.” He blew a kiss to Ben with dramatic flair, then placed a hand on his chin, stroking thoughtfully at the shadowy stubble. “But I don’t disagree with your assessment.”

“What assessment?” asked Ben, his eyebrow quirked in suspicion.

“You’re an idiot, like you said,” replied Klaus, looking impish.

Ben only rolled his eyes in a long-suffering way.

Klaus looked pleased enough with that reaction. _“Youuu_ said it, not me,” he hummed cheerfully, spreading his fingers out as if suddenly interested in examining his chipped blue nail polish. “I guess it must be true.”

“I take it back, then,” Ben declared, shrugging.

Klaus shook his head with vigour. “No take-backs!”

“Oh,” said Ben, in a neutral tone, “I just meant the part about me loving you.”

_“Absolutely_ no take-backs!” exclaimed Klaus, jabbing a finger at his brother.

Now, Ben smirked. “You’re right,” he said. “It’s no good asking for your brain back when it’s already been donated to some poor scarecrow. We’ll find something else to put in there, don’t worry. How about a catchy chorus?”

_“Bennn…”_ whined Klaus emphatically, almost wriggling in his seat. He started to say something else, but then sprang to his feet. “I really, _really_ gotta go. Don’t watch!” He scrabbled down the seawall toward a secluded spot of shadows.

Ben’s voice trailed after him, punctuated by echoing laughter: _“Damn it, Klaus! Stop going pee-pee in the ocean!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, listen, if you're not familiar with the meme that last line is referencing, please do yourself a favour and Google it immediately. It's never not been funny to me, and it got objectively more hilarious when I imagined Ben saying it.
> 
> I was thinking about expanding this story, but since my mind's been on other things and it reads as complete at this stage, I'm just going to leave it here for now. I may return to it when S2 drops. We'll see! At the moment, I'm dabbling in Marvel's sandbox, so feel free to check out my other work if you're into that.
> 
> Anyways, thank you for reading! Kudos and comments are always appreciated!
> 
> Tumblr: @mardahlia


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